


Identity Crisis

by fearnotthedemons



Series: Broken Glass, Broken Dreams [1]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: (vague) mentions of abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Identity Issues, Name Changes, Spoilers!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearnotthedemons/pseuds/fearnotthedemons
Summary: The Farm did not give her a name.





	Identity Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of Fallen Hero (which I'm currently obsessed with), so have this quick character study while I find my feet! Special thanks to starchaser22 for proofreading and keeping me sane <3

The Farm did not give her a name, so she called herself Sidestep. A lie wrapped in a truth, but there was an honesty to fighting that stripped all of that away and let her play hero. It was her and her opponents and the fight. Nothing else. Calculate the perfect timing for the kick. Know when the enemy will feint and when they will go for the kill. Plan accordingly. Planning for allies was harder, and no one could plan for Ricardo Ortega. Just Charge she could have handled, Marshal of the Rangers and a good person to have your back in a fight, but Ortega’s insistence to make things personal left her reeling. Their tentative partnership grew into an allied arrangement, which grew into something almost like friendship, and when he asked for her name the hundredth time she knew she had to tell him _something_.

The Farm did not give her a name, so she called herself Frances Neveu. Frances existed somewhere in between the escaped re-gene and the hero, filling the gaps with a life and a personhood beyond what she’d ever hoped to achieve. Sidestep had allies, but Frances had _friends_. Or at least as close to friends as a cuckoo could get. And for one brief, shining moment, that was enough. Then the Heartbreak Incident struck. Lying at the bottom of a three-story fall atop the broken bodies of those who had fallen before her, limbs twitching and splayed at unnatural angles, Sidestep died before her time. It was Frances who lay alone and helpless as the Farm came back to claim the flesh they’d grown and the golden barcode attached to it.

The Farm did not give her a name, so she called herself insurgent. _Not theirs, I am not theirs, anything but theirs_ , she told herself over and over as they carved atrocities into synthetic skin while she carved a quiet rebellion in the corners of her mind. They spent all of their time making her sharper, smarter, harder. The days blurred together between jabbed needles, drilled languages, and forced technique. “Again,” they demanded. “Don’t hold back. More power this time.” She complied. Acting the part of the perfect possession, she only let them see the parts of her that they’d put there. Twice made, twice born, twice underestimated. Focused as they were on the strength and force of her powers, they could not stand against the gentle breeze from a butterfly’s wings that changed the ocean’s tide. A few soft, insistent nudges, learned from the maestro himself in the moments before she fell, and she didn’t even have to cut the strings herself. She was free.

The Farm did not give her a name, so she called herself Heartbreak. She was the portly businessman in the elevator, the frail old woman carrying her groceries home, the bright-eyed youth in the park. Whoever she needed to be to reach her goals. When that was no longer enough, she stole a new identity from a second-rate hospital on the bad side of town. John, she called him, because the reminder of his anonymity amused her. A perfect Trojan horse. A perfect puppet. With him to do Heartbreak’s bidding, Frances was left behind as nothing more than a half-remembered nightmare. Until Ortega got to her. Again. Sitting unsuspecting in that cafe, slouched protectively around a cup of coffee strong enough to chew, he saw in her the ghost of the woman he’d known those seven years ago. “Frances?” he’d asked, “Is that really you??” As if it really was. As if his recognition could bring back the parts of herself she’d erased.

The Farm did not give her a name, so she gave herself many. Sidestep, Frances, Heartbreak, John, every person she’d ever used and none of them all at once. For years she used Frances as nothing more than an intermediary between plans. An unfortunate, troubled shell playing host to whoever or whatever Heartbreak needed to achieve her goals. But Frances was more than that now. She had obligations, things to do beyond obsessively covering her tracks while furthering her plans to expose the government and the Farm as Los Diablos’ newest villain. Lunch with Ortega. Walks at the dog park with Chen and Spoon. Training with Herald. A hundred and one little things added up over the months that made her… more. Not human, but not nothing, either.

The Farm did not give her a name, so she called herself _someone_ , and she hoped. Maybe one day that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments greatly appreciated <3


End file.
